


Inescapable

by WandersUnderStarlight



Series: Not Just a Spark [7]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dark Prowl, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11491275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandersUnderStarlight/pseuds/WandersUnderStarlight
Summary: Prowl was dead.





	Inescapable

**Author's Note:**

> The last snippet in the series, now with a G1/1986 Movie flavoring. Jazz dealing with the aftermath of Prowl's death.  
> And if you really want to creep yourself out, the listening suggestion for the end of the snippet is "Six's Theme Part 1" from the Little Nightmares soundtrack.

Prowl was _dead_.

In the chaos of the Unmaker descending on them, communication had been spotty. The last Jazz had seen Prowl was in their quarters before that final trip to Earth to gather the energon and supplies they needed. Jazz hadn’t found out about the shuttle attack until much later when the Cybertronians were metaphorically picking up the scattered pieces of their reality. He’d nearly died himself, only saved by a human child and the grace of Primus.

Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn’t have been better if he had perished as well.

He was a relic now. So many of his friends had died. The new generation didn’t need or want him. Oh, he was well-liked and respected, yet he felt out of place. He’d been told he could retire.

Prowl _was dead_. Gone.

It had seemed impossible when he’d been told. Of course he knew it could happen. War had claimed so many of them. But the Praxian had always seemed so indomitable. So in control of his, and by extension Jazz’s, destiny.

Jazz’s thoughts had tumbled, too many emotions running through him to properly process the information at first. The new shouldn’t have upset him, not after everything the Praxian had put him through. How many times had he secretly wished that somebot would put a shot through the mech’s spark? And yet… 

His spark shouldn’t have hurt so much. It pulsed erratically; ached with ice. 

Emptiness at the realization that his perfect spark match was gone forever. Relief at having lost his tormentor. Guilt from feeling that relief. Anger that he had felt the guilt. 

Prowl may have “loved” him, but he had also caged him. Somehow, Prowl’s certainty had become damningly comfortable. He didn’t know how to react; a sort of numbness hovered in his spark.

_Prowl was dead_. Never coming back.

 

Jazz sighed as he adjusted a crystal harp on the wall display. A light breeze blew in from the open doorway. The sounds of mechs working and living flowed in syncopated rhythms through the space. His little music shop was doing well. The rebuilding of Cybertron was in full swing, new buildings going up every cycle. Jazz had gotten lucky and bought the property where his shop now stood at a good rate. Though that might have had something to do with a certain new Prime “pulling some strings” as the humans woulds say.

Jazz had retired. 

For a time he had lived in Autobot City on Earth, but he’d found himself feeling unmoored. Listless. He was still dealing with his emotional backlash and decided to move back to Cybertron.

Peace was a fragile crystal beginning to grow. He tried to live his new life by shedding aspects of his old one. His neighbors were saints of Primus for putting up with his idiosyncrasies. They knew he was a war veteran and always spoke to him respectfully. Slowly, over several orns, his Ops mods had been turned off or discarded. He still couldn’t recharge without certain locks on his door. Jazz was almost a civilian. 

Prowl continued to invade his processor. It was expected, really. The mech had become a huge part of his life, even if he’d fought against it most of the time. He couldn’t really say what Prowl had been to him. Lover. Captor. His greatest ally and his worst enemy rolled into one.

He had good cycles and bad cycles. 

On the bad cycles, it was hard for him to remember what being happy was like. Prowl would plague him; haunt his thoughts. Those cycles he didn’t recharge well.

The good cycles had him chatting and laughing with his customers. Even flirting. Though he knew Prowl had ruined him for any future lovers… if he could ever bring himself to go that far.

Near perfect Resonance was… It just was.

It wasn’t like he could look at other mechs for very long anyway without Prowl’s voice coming into his processor.

_You are mine._

_I will tear them apart… for you._

_We will be together at the end of all this nonsense._

_Say the words, Jazz._

He didn’t want to think about it. Because if he let himself think about it, he might admit that in some small corner of his spark there was a place that… that…

Primus, his processor was fragged up. Maybe he should schedule a visit with a psychiatrist. Preferably, not a Praxian one. 

A soft sound down to his right drew his attention from the instruments he was arranging. A small black and gold sparkling stood there staring at him with big amber optics. It looked as though it hadn’t yet reached its first upgrade. Little winglets fluttered and quivered on its back. Jazz looked around for the sparkling’s creators, slightly perturbed that it had somehow managed to sneak up on him, but they seemed to be alone in the shop.

“Uh, hey lil’ bit. Where’s yar carrier, huh?”

The sparkling said nothing, closing the distance between them and circling its arms around what part of Jazz it could reach. Which happened to be Jazz’s right leg below the knee. Thus hobbled, all Jazz could do was watch the sparkling in bemusement. It kept up silent, unnerving optic contact.

The plating on the back of Jazz’s neck started to prickle in the way it used to on a bad mission.

“Wha’... ah, wha’s wrong, lil’ guy?” Maybe it was just lost and had attached itself to the nearest mech.

The sparkling was silent for a few more breems before it spoke far too clearly for its age.

“Jazz.”

The Polyhexian froze. How did it know his name?

“Mine.” The sparkling insisted.

“Wha’ did ya say?” he whispered, vocalizer clicking with stress.

“Jazz. Mine.” The little arms tightened around his leg. “Found you. My spark.” The amber optics sharpened with intelligence. Tiny winglets flared possessively in a way so familiar that Jazz’s vents stalled out all together.

“Y-ya… yar not… ya can’t be…”

No sparkling’s optics should be that cold. The world slowed around him. Sounds muted. He couldn’t look away from the sparkling’s face. Horror filled him. Something in Jazz’s systems whined in distress.

“Cervo! Are you in here? Cervo?” A frazzled looking mech rushed into the store. 

The sparkling’s face smoothed out into a guileless countenance at the sound of the mech’s voice. The bustle of the world restarted as whatever dark spell that had been woven around them shattered.

“There you are! You know better than to run off.” He picked up the sparkling, dislodging it from Jazz’s leg. He shot Jazz an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about that, Sir.”

“Tha’, um, is he yars?” Jazz managed to say without sounding too strained.

“Yes. He’s normally so well behaved, I didn’t realize he’d run off until I turned around and he wasn’t there. He didn’t bother you, I hope?”

“N-no. O’ course not.”

The sparkling in the mech’s arms clicked and waved its sensor panels, looking between his carrier and Jazz.

“Oh, he likes you.” The mech said happily. “It usually takes so long for him to warm up to other mechs. I’m Defender, by the way. We just moved here. Maybe we can come by and visit again when we’re not busy.”

“‘M Jazz.” he heard himself say. Felt the last bit of his Ops training that he couldn’t rid himself of kick in as his dermas stretched themselves into a smile. 

Defender smiled back. “Nice to meet you. We need to get going; got lots of errands to run. See you around! Say bye-bye to Jazz, Cervo.” With that he turned and started walking away, sparkling looking back at Jazz over his shoulder.

A familiar dangerous smirk stole its way onto the sparkling’s dermas. Strange and almost grotesque in the way it didn’t belong on such an innocent-looking face.

“Jazz.”

When they were out of sight, Jazz slowly walked over to the door of the shop and shut it against the outside. He flipped the sign from “Open” to “Closed” and noticed distantly that his servo was shaking. He made his way behind the counter and sat down hard on the floor. His armor rattled with trembles. He hugged his knees to his chestplates.

It was impossible… wasn’t it?

Though… Jazz had seen the Unmaker with his own optics. Something everybot had thought was just a sparkling tale to scare younglings.

...

Prowl was dead…

Wasn’t he?

**Author's Note:**

> Cervo is the name used for Prowl in the French translation of the G1 cartoon.


End file.
